


Colourless

by DauntingJustice



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 15:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10744608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DauntingJustice/pseuds/DauntingJustice
Summary: Arthur and Francis, now married, may not be as happy as they'd hoped they'd be. Arthur's job is slowly dragging him away from reality, and Francis fears he'll lose him for good; a wild, spontaneous change may be just what they need to restore colour to their worlds... (Human AU; FrUK; One-shot).





	Colourless

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note: I do not own Hetalia, or any of the characters; I love messing around with 'em, though.

He arrived home before him.

He always did, somehow—Francis was constantly worrying about the possibility that his spouse was overworking himself. Bags under his eyes, constant worry, frequent losses of appetite…he really hoped that Arthur wasn't slipping into depression, but looking at the long hours the obdurate man forced himself to work, and at the few words he had to say nowadays, that became an alarmingly high possibility.

Sighing, Francis placed his briefcase on the coffee table, a few papers sticking out here and there—he couldn't be bothered to be meticulous at this point—and collapsed on the sofa. He couldn't be bothered to change his clothes, either.

The day had drained the energy and liveliness out of him. Yes, even flamboyant Francis felt the stressful effects of work, although he had a great passion for it. This, of course, must have been nothing compared to Arthur's current condition. That perturbed the Frenchman much too often lately, tugging at his thoughts and dragging them away to scenarios that frightened him to no end. That would usually result in him calling Arthur immediately, no matter the time of the day, just so he could hear him unleash a string of colourful language for 'disrupting' his work. Francis didn't mind; if he was still cursing, he was fine at the moment.

Even deep in his thoughts, his nose caught the whiff of an unpleasant, burning smell…he chuckled to himself. Clearly, Arthur had tried to cook that morning after Francis left, and the evidence still remained. He could almost picture the Briton cursing the stove to oblivion, using all sorts of obscene language, before slamming the pan into the sink and storming away.

Needless to say, Francis would always have to pick up what was left off after that.

"Ah, Arthur…" He smiled wistfully, his eyes fluttering to a close. This was a name he always repeated when he was in a dilemma, even when the man himself was the main cause of it. What could he say? The thought of the Briton was an inevitable, albeit a bit strange, sort of comfort.

He could see those sharp green eyes in his mind, could see the way those 'atrociously' bushy eyebrows furrowed when confused, could see him scowling, in that endearing way of his.

It washed all his anxiety away.

However, this moment that he so very cherished did not last for long; the door burst open and startled him into hastily straightening his posture.

"Bloody…stupid…bugger!"

Hair disheveled in the most hideous of ways, eyes narrowed and piercing through anything that came in their way, feet angrily marching in, door slammed shut by a powerful swing of the hand, seething like there was no tomorrow…a smile drew itself upon Francis' face once more. At his best or at his worst, his Arthur had come home.

"Arthur, _cher!"_ He sprung up, arms spread wide, an affectionate smile playing on his lips. He might have imagined it, but the man's shoulders seem to relax slightly upon hearing that harmonious voice.

However, "' _Cher'_ yourself, frog," was the huffed reply. Arthur tossed his coat tackily over the chair without a look back, clearly suppressing a groan judging by the way he pursed his lips and clenched his hands. Well, if he wasn't insisting on hanging it up neatly like he always would, something was especially wrong today.

Francis walked up to him, slipping Arthur's briefcase from his fingers and placing it on top of his own. He gave no complaint about the untidiness of the living room, and no grunt of exasperation when Francis gently placed his hands on his shoulders, massaging them, easing them from the daily stress. Instead he sighed, sounding immensely relieved, as if a huge load had been lifted off of him. He himself wasn't sure whether it was the massage, or Francis.

"Ah…" Arthur stretched his arms over his head, closing his eyes as he attempted to forget the pain, both the physical and the mental, when he felt a pair of arms slip around his waist. Again, he did not argue, and Francis thought his eyes caught the ghost of a smile on his face.

"Tired, aren't you, _cher?"_ He murmured next to his ear, resting his chin on his shoulder. Arthur's cheeks were coloured a rosy pink—a fresh change from the nearly death-like pallor Francis inwardly fretted about. The Briton was absolutely obstinate when it came to his own well-being, so Francis held on to anything he could do for him, no matter how minute.

Arthur rested his head against Francis' chest, looking at him from the corner of his eye. He was smiling. Always, Arthur had always seen him smiling.

How could someone be so strong as to smile through the darkest of days?

"Your perfume is way too pungent," he chose to say instead, wrinkling his nose. In truth it was a source of comfort for him, because it always meant that Francis was there and with him, but he decided that the frog's ego was big enough as it was. "I'll suffocate now. Let me breathe, please."

"Hm? That's how you want to play it?" Francis' grip on him faltered not, but rather, it became tighter, in a curiously reassuring sort of way. "You can't lie to me, Arthur; I know my arms are your happy place."

He snorted. "I prefer to call them 'The Place That I Do Not Hate As Much As The Rest'."

"So…your favourite place?"

"Francis, you know what, just shut up and hold me."

"As you wish…!" And Francis held him, let him lean on him, let him breathe in his flowery scent and look into those soothing blue eyes. Francis could not stand the gap between them; it was like torture after a day so fastidious, and his husband's expression was almost pleading—he closed it by the press of his lips on Arthur's surprisingly soft ones.

There wasn't a muffled sound of surprise, this time. Francis nearly smirked; so Arthur had been secretly hoping for this.

A few moments after they parted, Arthur's faint smile that had been gradually growing, something that was rare to see as it was, faded. Faded as if reality had clamped its bony hands on him, suffocating him, reminding him that he wasn't up _there,_ but down _here_ —on planet Earth, where problems weren't solved by comforting hugs or fond kisses…even if they were the most heart-warming and loving ones to ever caress his body—and Francis hadn't been his first, that was for certain.

Upon noticing the disappearance of the brief contentment of his partner, Francis' own smile dimmed. Slightly, it did, but it remained, because if he couldn't smile, who would strive to light up Arthur's days?

"You really are stressed…aren't you?" Francis ran his hand through Arthur's hair in an attempt to tame it, never letting go of him. Then, before Arthur could provide a reply—his feet left the ground.

He yelped, scrambling to grab on to the closest thing within reach—Francis' shirt—flailing instinctively, but he didn't come close to the ground once. He was being held like he was the last human being on Earth.

Francis looked down at him, snickering at his reaction, and those enchanting eyes, coloured an intense green, narrowed, but he could see that no real anger was felt. "Stop smirking at me like that, you bloody frog!"

"But your reactions are so amusing, _cher."_ He purred, his lips brushing against his forehead, planting a light, fluttering kiss that made Arthur's heartbeat skyrocket beyond control.

"P-Put me down!" The Briton demanded, despite his momentary pause and stutter. "What on Earth are you doing?"

"Trying to make you smile," Francis answered simply, taking him to the sofa. He was carrying him like he would carry a newly-wed bride—except this 'bride' was his irreplaceable husband, who, at the moment, seemed to be speechless, even after being carefully set down.

"So, tell me," Francis said as he slid next to him, fighting to keep the feeling of apprehension in him from spiraling out of control, "what's wrong, _mon ange?"_ He reached for his hand, bringing it close to his lips, peppering his knuckles with soft kisses. "You can tell me what you want, _tu sais?"_

Arthur merely gazed absently at their intertwined fingers, his eyes drooping ever so slightly. And yet, that adorable shade of red never abandoned his cheeks. "Nothing…" he mumbled, almost entranced by how perfect their hands fit together. "Just…work," he said, "A tosser for a boss…you know how he is, the usual…" He bit his lip, unaware of how hard until he tasted blood. "And that's the problem, Francis."

His partner's gaze remained on his hand; had it always looked so small and fragile?

Nevertheless, Arthur knew he was listening—especially since he hadn't addressed him by any creative insult.

"Everything is the same," he gritted out, every word more bitter than the one before it. "Every day, the same monotonous routine. Get up early, sit in the same office, in front of the same computer, doing exactly what a robot could do. I'm just…I'm so _fed up._ "

Arthur was on a roll now, glaring at the carpet and going on and on about all his distress and concerns. Francis made sure not to do anything to cut him off. It'd been a long time since he had heard him vent—who knew what would happen to the man if he kept it in any longer?

At one point, Arthur stopped, as if he'd just realised all that he'd been saying. Suddenly, his voice dropped to a bare whisper, and had there not been pin-drop silence in the room already, Francis wouldn't have heard it:

"My world is grey, Francis," The Frenchman's heart sunk. When had Arthur ever let himself sound so broken? How could he have been so blind as to think that hugs and affection could ever be enough to better his mood? Why did he find himself giving in when Arthur insisted that he was fine? Why—?

"It's grey, and you're the only splash of colour in it."

Now he was slowly looking up, his face bursting in a fresh bloom of colour, his eyes downcast.

It wasn't usual for Arthur to express himself in such a way, either. He must have been breaking on the inside piece by piece, and that hurt Francis more than anyone could ever imagine.

"Arthur…" He whispered, his hold on that delicate hand tightening. The words had touched him just as much as they had saddened him. Francis' job was more flexible than office work, that was for sure—being a graphic designer was something he loved, after all, in spite of the pressure that came with it. He hoped against hope that Arthur hadn't been looking at him with envy every morning when his back was turned.

If he had been, he wouldn't blame him; Francis jabbered enthusiastically about his newest projects quite often. How many times had he unknowingly added insult to injury?

"Just—oh, bloody hell, don't…don't think about it too much…" Arthur interrupted, when he'd noticed how Francis' eyes were now bereft of their usual twinkle. He pulled his hand back, rubbing his knuckles right there, where he could still feel those lips that he so cherished. "I'm just babbling, probably because I haven't slept so well last night."

"You haven't slept well in days, _cher,_ look at you." Francis' smile looked almost pained; Arthur's struggle had become his, was always his, because Arthur _was_ his. He carefully placed his hand on his cheek, bringing him closer so that he could study the face he'd memorised since day one.

But there was something different about the usual fierceness he would see in those keen green eyes; it seemed almost nonexistent; something different about his cheeks; they were sunken now…

And yet: "I'll be just fine." he insisted, trying to straighten his posture once more, but Francis wouldn't have it. Not anymore. He stubbornly shook his head.

"Arthur, _non._ You're not at _all_ fine, and you won't _be_ fine if you spend your days on something you hate," He said, scolding him as if he were a child. "That is not how life works; it works by spending your time doing what you love, with the people that you love."

"It's alright, you moron," Arthur deadpanned. "Where I lack in the first, I make up for in the second. I'm married to you, aren't I?"

To that, Francis had no words. All he had was a frozen moment of shock, an embrace he could give, and kisses he could shower him with.

"H-Hey, calm dow—" But whether Arthur had a million words to say or just one, it could all be drowned out by the meeting of their lips, and it was almost indescribable how Francis could make him melt on the inside so easily. His lips always seemed to remind him of French delicacies, unsurprisingly. Sweet, and he could taste the hope of a bright tomorrow; no matter how far-fetched the thought seemed.

Arthur, on the other hand, had the scent of petrichor—the lovely smell of fresh rain—and there was a curious tangy flavour on his lips, but it reminded Francis that nothing in life came without tribulations.

They pulled away yet stayed close, huddled together for the warmth they so desperately wanted to come: the warmth of a bright future. How could they even dare to hope for one at this point?

"I don't want you to remain like this," Francis suddenly said, his tone much more serious than before. It sounded strange to Arthur. "You're unhappy, Arthur, do you know how much that hurts me? To know that you struggle to go through every day, forcing yourself to do what you are demanded to regardless of what you _want_ to…no, I won't have it. If you are feeling so desolate and alone, then I can never be content."

"Fr—"

"No, Arthur, do you understand me? I'm completely serious." He made sure he was looking deep into his eyes, and, spontaneously, as soon as the thought merely crossed his mind, he blurted it out: "Let us both quit our jobs and move out of here."

"…I'm sorry, _what?!"_ If Arthur hadn't been regretting his rant earlier, he surely was now. This was going in the wildest direction he couldn't have possibly imagined…

"Think about it!" Francis insisted, becoming more certain about his sudden decision by the passing seconds. "You are close to pulling your hair out from the stress of your current job. And I'm starting to think this place is very dull now as well; we have been living here for years, I don't blame you. In that case, why not try something new? Let's move to another town, or even another country, I would be more than willing to do it."

"What's gotten over you?" Arthur demanded, dumbfounded. "Are you even listening to yourself right now? Moving isn't so _simple_ that you could just say it and it would happen! We'd be leaving everything behind, Francis, even if I hate my job, and by extension, those annoying neighbours next door. And have you even thought about _yourself?"_ Arthur took a deep breath to calm himself down and put his thoughts in order. "…You love your job. I know you do, and if we move, who knows if you'll get an opportunity like it again? What if…" His eyes widened slightly at the mere thought of it, "what if I'm happy…but _you're_ not?" He looked at him with a sort of poorly-hidden fear mixed in his eyes. "I would never forgive myself."

Francis stared at him. What could he say, _what,_ that would convince this stubborn man otherwise? Yes, he knew that moving was a huge deal. Yes, he knew that it would take a lot of planning. But what was the point of staying here if his partner was dreading the moment he'd have to step out of the house? When he was so clearly entering an inevitable state of depression?

' _No, I will not lose you.'_ He decided. _'Not to something like this. I need you to smile for me, why can't you see that?'_

"I could never be so, Arthur." Francis said, smiling gently. "For you, I will cross oceans and climb mountains. Besides, I will be with you, and I am pretty sure I could charm the boss or manager into liking me…" He winked, causing the Briton's cheeks to heat up.

"Sh-Shut up, how can you be so casual about this…" He huffed, pretending that his words didn't cause a whirlwind of out-of-control scenarios to spring up in his head. A new town—possibly an entirely new country. A new house. A new job. New people. New life.

' _I could start over.'_

But would he, cautious and suspicious Arthur Kirkland, ever be able to? What if his partner didn't end up alright, after all? What if this was the beginning of the biggest mistake of their lives? He briefly thought of mentioning the fact that he could look for another job in the same town...oh, who was he kidding? He'd turned this place upside down when they'd first settled here—his current job was the one that paid the highest, and the company was quite well-respected, in spite of the extremely pressurising atmosphere it surrounded its employees with. That didn't mean he'd ever thought of _moving..._

"You are still not convinced." Francis rightly guessed, cocking his head to the side and looking at him curiously.

"It's a bit hard to agree to moving away, actually, when you've only just mentioned it."

"You don't have to agree right now." He said, taking his hands. He smiled reassuringly, hoping that Arthur would feel more relaxed. " _Regardes_ , we don't have to do it now. We can plan, we can wait a little bit longer. We'll find a nice place to stay in…how about somewhere near the countryside? It's a lot more peaceful, and there will be nothing besides us and nature."

Arthur did everything in his power to prevent his mind from picturing that, but he couldn't help it. Everything this man was saying seemed to make some sort of sense, despite the bizarreness of it all, and he could practically see it now: him and Francis sitting out on the porch of a quaint little house, arms around each other, gazing at the wondrous scenery they never got to enjoy in the town. Arguing about who would make dinner that night, teasing each other about the most trivial of things, and then racing inside to see who would get the best spot on the couch, whose lips would be on top of whose…

"And you could find another, much better job," Francis continued, snapping him out of his daze, "you could even continue your studies and try to get into something else, why not? It's never too late. And I will, of course, dazzle everyone with my skills and get employed immediately!" Arthur rolled his eyes playfully, smacking the Frenchman at the back of his head. "You self-obsessed frog." He frowned as he mulled over the thought. "But don't they say that moving is one of the most stressful things? How can you even guarantee that we'll become this lucky?"

"It will surely be difficult!" Francis announced. "It will seem impossible, even, and we will start losing hope, I know!"

"…Um, that doesn't help me make a decision."

"But!" He went on, clasping his hands together, "Will it not be the wildest adventure of our lives? Will we not strive for a comfortable and happy living? What is the point of staying here, in the same predicament, when we can hunt for the solution?"

He had a point. If they did nothing, this was how their lives would be. Distress would take over Arthur's life, and Francis would break as he'd watch it unfold before his eyes.

"So?" Francis asked, hope blooming once more in those beautiful eyes of his. "What do you say?"

"I say…" Arthur took a deep breath, "I say we start studying the matter right away."

He'd barely gotten the words out before he was tackled into yet another hug, held so tightly, like he would disappear at any moment, and there was laughter that rose from his husband's mouth; the most melodic sound Arthur had ever heard. He wrapped his arms around Francis, gripping him just as tight—they were each other's anchor. One would float up to the top, lost and alone, if he were to ever let go.

"I can't wait…" Francis breathed, pulling back to look at Arthur's eyes, at how brightly they seemed to shine with this new aspiration. There was a lot of determination in them; now he had something to vie for, a goal to chase after. This was just the drive he needed to add more colour, more meaning, to his world.

"Me neither…" He whispered, as if he wouldn't dare believe what he'd just agreed to. "I really…don't know what to say."

"Thank you?" Francis offered, the corner of his lips lifting upwards in a sly smile. Arthur rolled his eyes. "Right, right. You have your moments, in which sometimes I forget how much of a frog you are."

His partner merely winked and blew him a kiss, which Arthur always found to be terrible cheesy, yet he loved it nonetheless. "Ah, but I am a very irresistible one."

"In a frustrating way," He agreed, scoffing, "Someone has to be around to make sure you keep your hands to yourself."

Francis feigned hurt, "Arthur, you do not need to feel so jealous just because everyone is attracted to me; you know I'll only ever be with you…" He smirked, a childish mischievousness further livening up his features as he drew him closer. " _Je t'aime, mon ange."_ He finally murmured, when he'd admired him enough.

Arthur was quite sure that if anyone had attached a heart rate monitor to him at that moment, the lines would go wild on the screen. His heart beat madly; pounding rapidly in his chest, so much so that it practically defied the laws of science.

"I love you too, you stupid frog." He mumbled, his usual scowl returning, but the affection was clear in his eyes. "And I…I want to start this new life with you."

After that, no more words followed. With the anxiety all gone, the worries tossed away, the stress diminished to nothingness, they each pulled the other closer for another lip lock.

They fell asleep in each other's embrace that night.

**Author's Note:**

> Have I mentioned I ship FrUK like there's no tomorrow? 'Cause I do.  
> Just a lil' idea I had one day. I've always thought of FrUK as a relationship cluttered with hardships, but Francis and Arthur do a good job of keeping each other sane, n'est-ce pas?  
> If you take your time to read this, thank you! Comments are appreciated.
> 
> ~D.J.


End file.
